


The Hand That Mocked, The Heart That Fed

by blueskyscribe



Series: Law, Say the Gardeners, Is the Sun [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:46:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskyscribe/pseuds/blueskyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grief takes strange and painful forms.  Sometimes, in fact, painful to everyone nearby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I suddenly realized that I had _totally forgotten_ about the Vehicons who were helping Bulkhead build the landing pad during "Predacons Rising". I'm sorry, Vehicons! I didn't mean to forget you!
> 
> Shiv is "Steve"; I saw this in [this fic](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9510768/1/This-Chasm-Isn-t-Fixed-Yet) and thought it was a great idea. :) I generally use Vehicon to refer to all the "genericons", including the Eradicons.
> 
> This is chronologically the first in the series, and I have changed the order within the series to reflect that. :)

It started with the wall.  That's what Shiv would have told anyone who asked.  No one ever had and probably no one ever would, but that's what he would have said.  Because what happened to Radar's crew could have been a coincidence. 

Shiv wanted to believe it was a coincidence. 

He wanted to believe it, for Breakdown's sake.  A final mark of respect for the big guy.  And maybe that proved Knock Out's point . . . that even Shiv, a Vehicon, mourned the loss of six of his compatriots for Breakdown's sake.  Not for Radar's sake.  Not for his crew.  For Breakdown.

Not that Knock Out would have put it like that. He had never talked to Shiv beyond "stay off that wing for a few days" for one thing, and he would never have said "Radar" for another.  Even before Breakdown's termination, he never called Vehicons by name.  None of the officers did;  it was always "you there" or "drone" or something like that.  But Breakdown _did_ know their names, all of them, and he talked with them and laughed with them and Knock Out smiled indulgently at his partner.  Only at his partner.  To him every Vehicon was simply "Vehicon."  His indifference didn't bother Shiv.  It was normal.  At least Knock Out patched them up skillfully and with relative care, even if he didn't, despite his name, believe in anesthetic.

Vehicons weren't stupid, despite what some believed.  They knew they were _meant_ to be faceless, identical, disposable.  The officers weren't supposed to get attached.  The Vehicons weren't supposed to get above themselves.  No one was supposed to care when they died.  Generally, no one did.  Three cheers for a caste-less society.

It hurt, but there were advantages too.  Shiv and his friends raided the energon stores frequently—the guards willingly looked the other way, they were Vehicons too—and if Soundwave's cameras caught them as they snuck down the halls with their arms full of cubes, well, even _Soundwave_ couldn't tell one Vehicon from another.  Or maybe he just couldn't be bothered to try.  At any rate, unless the raiding party was unlucky enough to run into an officer in person, they were free and clear.  Even Lord Megatron wouldn't punish _every_ Vehicon on the ship just to correct a minor infraction.  Their anonymity was a shield.

Until the wall.

But maybe, after all, it had started before then, maybe it _had_ started with Radar.  Because if Shiv was telling the story (which he wasn't, because no one would ever care enough to ask), then he'd _have_ to explain about Radar to make the wall make sense.  It didn't matter that what happened to Radar and his crew was (probably) a coincidence.  What mattered was how it changed things.

The news had spread quickly; Airachnid escaped, Breakdown dead.   In their barracks, the Vehicons sat stunned or toasted his memory or wept or raged.  Breakdown, their friend.  Their confidant.  The only bot who ever treated them like they were _real._

Stupid. fragging. Airachnid.

They cursed her name, her cruelty, her very spark and laid down plans to deactivate her, make her pay, all the while knowing, pathetically, how useless they would be against her. 

Diesel said, without much hope, "Maybe Knock Out will kill her."  It was the first mention of the medic.

"What could _Knock Out_ do against Airachnid?" Decepticons were supposed to be hulking, strong, and brave.  Knock Out was none of these things.  That was why Breakdown had been his partner to begin with, right?  To protect him.  He was a good medic, but just a medic.  "I think _we'd_ have better luck."

"He could poison her," Cantilever suggested listlessly.  He was leaning his helm on his knees.  "Find out where she's hiding and poison her energon."

Yes, everyone agreed, he could do that.

"I'm going to go see him," Radar said suddenly, pushing to his pedes.

"He can't really do anything.  He can't poison her. No one knows where she is."

"I know that, I just . . . I think I should see him."

Shiv went with him.  Radar was right; Breakdown would've wanted someone to take care of his little cherry red partner.

The door to the med bay was open, which was unusual, and Knock Out was polishing his medical instruments, all set out in neat rows, arranged by size.  Which might not have been unusual under different circumstances.  He worked a crumpled rag over a tiny screwdriver, his fingers rolling the soft material around the thin shank.

He looked . . . he looked normal.  Calm. Absorbed in his work.

Oh Primus, what if he didn't _know?_ Like a coward, Shiv remained in the doorway, refusing to be moved by any of his friend's whispered arguments or insults.  In the end, Radar stepped through the entrance alone.

Knock Out, still polishing, looked up.  Inquisitive.  Casual.  "Well, Vehicon?" he said after Radar had stood on the other side of the table for a few seconds, wings twitching nervously.  "Spit it out. Where's it hurt?"

"It's not . . . I'm not injured, sir.  It's just . . . You don't know me, but my name's Radar and . . ." His words tumbled out faster and faster.  "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about Breakdown, really sorry, and we all miss him and if there's anything I can do, if there's anything you need . . ."

Knock Out flicked his wrist sideways, tossing the screwdriver onto the table.  It landed with a tinny clatter, skewing a laser scalpel and a soldering iron out of their perfect formation.  The shiny red medic began wiping his hands off with the cloth, marred with grease though it was.  "What did you say your name was?"

"Radar, sir."

"Radar.  What a nice name.  Except." Knock Out's arm shot forward in a blur of red and silver as he drove his claws _up_ into Radar's chestplate. "Vehicons don't _have_ names, do they?" Delicate instruments clattered to the floor as he dragged the panicked flyer across the table, fingers hooked under his plating.  "Am I wrong?  Has our _glorious army_ changed the regulations when I wasn't looking?" 

"P-please, sir, it's just a nickname, I didn't—"

Thin shrieks of metal as the medic's free hand scored lines of silver down the glossy purple finish.  "What is your designation?"

" RA-239!  It's RA-239, sir!"

"And what is your name?"

"I don't have one, sir!  Please!"

"Good.  Don't forget it."  Knock Out shoved him backwards, watching dispassionately as Radar landed with a clang and started to scramble away.  The doctor raised an optic ridge, looking pointedly to the medical tools scattered across the floor.  Trembling, Radar crawled over to gather them up into the crook of his arm before depositing them on the table as quickly as he could. 

Knock Out calmly began to sort them into rows again, biggest to smallest.  "Dismissed, Vehicon," he said without looking up.  He was back to polishing by the time Radar reached the door.

Shiv pulled him onto his shoulder and let him lean for a minute.  Megatron strode past them as they made their way down the hall, not sparing a glance for a couple of Vehicons leaving the medical bay, one injured—which was, after all, a common sight.

His deep voice floated out to them as they walked away.

"Ah, Doctor.  I wonder if you might examine my arm.  It has been unsatisfactorily stiff as of late."

"Certainly, my liege.  Your cannon is throwing off your balance, unless I miss my guess.  But with some simple recalibrations . . ."

Radar and his flight squad were sent out the next day in response to an Autobot raid.  That was strange; it should have been Pitchback and his team, except the roster was changed at the last minute.  Only Sideswing and Cantilever made it back.  Sadly, that was not strange in the least; the Autobots were increasingly good shots.

Radar, leading the left wing, had been the first to go down.

It was probably a coincidence.  Soundwave arranged all the flight rosters. Soundwave. He must have had his reasons.

It _must_ have been a coincidence. No matter what people said.

Visits to the medical bay took on a nightmarish quality, after that.  Previously Knock Out had ignored the Vehicons even as he worked on them, letting Breakdown do all the small talk aside from the occasional interjection of "Can you feel this?" or "Bend your arm as far as you can."  But now he chattered continuously, jovial and sharp and digging for answers, and the question that always came up, so playful and so dangerous, was "And what's _your_ name?"

Maybe Breakdown hadn't been protecting the medic.  Maybe he'd been protecting everyone else.

 Knock Out, for his part, went about his duties and barely seemed to notice that his partner was gone.  True, Diesel swore that while he was on monitor duty, the doctor strode onto the bridge—"I mean, onto the _bridge,_ while Lord Megatron was standing _right there!"—_ and vowed to retrieve a relic in Breakdown's memory or something, but Diesel had been fairly hungover that day and Shiv was sure he was wrong.  That was just not something a Decepticon officer would _do,_ especially not in front of Megatron.  If a Decepticon died, it was because he was weak and unworthy, end of story; that was the official line.  And nobody got ahead by linking themselves to a failure.

Maybe Diesel had something, though, because the doctor begged Megatron—publically begged him—to give him the organic creature which had nested in Breakdown's corpse and his glee, when Megatron decreed that "Silas" would end up on his dissection table, was unmistakable.  "Breakdown would be tickled . . ."

Breakdown, oh Primus, poor Breakdown.  Shiv had seen a lot and lost a lot during the war, but seeing an organic _parasite_ inhabiting his friend's mutilated frame . . . He repressed a shudder as he and Diesel helped Knock Out strap the struggling abomination down.

"Please, let me go . . . Please!  PLEASE, I CAN HELP YOU!  Knock Out . . . Knock Out, it's me!  Don't you recognize me?  It's me, it's Breakdown!"

Knock Out smiled down at him.  If Shiv had been on the other end of that smile, he would have killed himself.  "No.  It's not."

"I swear I am!  I just, just didn't want Megatron to know b-because he wouldn't believe me—"

Shiv shrank in on himself as Knock Out grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed him forward.

"Who is this?"

"It's, it's a Vehicon.  You see, I knew that!! Knock Out, please—"

"Who.  WHO.  Tell me who this is."  Shiv's plating rattled as Knock Out shook him in Breakdown's—Silas'—face.  "Tell me his NAME."

"He . . . I don't know . . . th-they all look the same—"

The medic's lip curled.  "You're not Breakdown."  He pulled Shiv back, releasing him so suddenly he almost fell.  "Get out, Vehicon."

"Yes sir."

"Let me go, please, oh God, oh God—"

A crooning laugh, the whine of a buzzsaw.

Shiv ran.

The medical bay did not become any less frightening now that the alien implanted in Breakdown's body had become an apparently permanent fixture.  True, Knock Out's bedside manner towards the Vehicons actually improved;  he had gone back to asking only medically necessary questions, like "How many fingers am I holding up?". But the organic creature off to the side, screaming, crying, and begging in the mutilated, rust-splotched body of a former comrade put a damper on things.

Especially with Knock Out's habit of occasionally dragging a Vehicon over to Silas and demanding, in his most mocking tone, "Tell me his NAME, _Breakdown._   Oh dear, can't you remember?  Tell me his NAME."

A few of the Vehicons had begun covertly studying datapads on first aid to minimize their trips to the med bay.  It was that bad.

And then the wall happened, and bad became worse.


	2. Chapter 2

It was supposed to be a simple, fun raid.  Four of them, Shiv, Pitchback, Sideswing, and Cantilever, holding back giggles as they snuck through the empty corridors with their arms full of energon cubes.  They were not expecting to turn the corner and find Knock Out.

And they definitely were not expecting to find Knock Out _stuck in a wall._

For a few seconds they just stared at him.  His hands drooped down from his arms, which were locked in an outward position, and his head was bowed forward. 

He was asleep.  Thank _Primus_.

"Come on," Shiv whispered.  "Let's go."

"Wait.  What is this?  Why is he like that? _How_ is he like that?"

"I heard," Cantilever said, "that the Autobot prisoner did it with some relic. Knock Out let him escape, so Lord Megatron left him there, as an example."

That sounded like Megatron all right.  "Let's go," Shiv repeated.

"Wait." Sideswing's eyes were fixed on the trapped CMO.  "Lord Megatron wants him punished.  _Wants_ it."

"And tomorrow Lord Megatron will want something else, or the next day, or the day after that," Shiv said, feeling a growing fear in his spark.  "Sideswing, don't do anything stupid, he's an officer.  He's the _only medic."_

"He killed Radar."

"You don't know that," Shiv said.  "It . . . it was probably a coincidence."

"It was the day after," Cantilever said quietly.  He'd been the only other survivor from the crew of eight, just him and Sideswing.  "The day after he went to Knock Out.  Trying to _help_ him."

Pitchback's wings shifted.  "Let's just get out of here, guys."

"Sure, you'd say that!" spat Sideswing.  "You and your crew would've been the ones being blasted out of the sky if it hadn't been for _Knock Out!"_

"So, what, you're blaming me now?"

"No, I'm blaming _him!"_ Sideswing pointed at Knock Out, then drew his servo back as though he'd been burned.  Knock Out had woken up.  Knock Out was watching them.

His claws folded into fists and unfolded, one at a time, and there was an air of strain and tension behind that watchfulness.  But he stared unblinkingly.

"Nice night for a stroll," he said in a deep drawl that recalled every terrifying medical bay visit out of Shiv's memory banks.  The medic's optics drifted to the energon cubes the Vehicons clutched to their chests.  "Did someone leave those lying around?  So careless."

That was the last straw for Shiv.  He grabbed Sideswing by one arm, Pitchback grabbed him by the other, and together they hauled him away, almost running.  ("Leaving so soon?" Knock Out called after them.) Cantilever trotted behind the other three, shaking his head.

"We could've done something," Sideswing said, his voice shaking.  "We _should've_ done something.  For Radar."

"He's an _officer,"_ Pitchback said.

"Anyway," Cantilever said gloomily, "he heard your voice."

They all nodded. Their voices. The one unique thing about any of them. Shiv couldn't help but be thankful of it as he pulled Sideswing back to the barracks.  But he should have known it wouldn't end there. 

Sideswing and Cantilever might have had the most reason for hating Knock Out, but every Vehicon lived in fear of him.  At first, the Vehicons avoided the corridor with the new Decepticon wall hanging.  Then, as Megatron showed no sign of relenting and freeing the medic, they took to peeking around the corner, standing in silent clusters as they watched the officer they hated stretching his neck to work out the kinks, or reflexively opening and closing his fingers, or staring sullenly at the floor.   

Sometimes one of the other officers made an appearance. Dreadwing looked the other way as he hurried past, embarrassed, but once he stopped to ask the doctor the passcode to the medical bay for some supplies.  Soundwave strolled by at his usual immutable pace, his faceplate tilting towards the medic but showing no other signs of interest.  The Vehicons scattered as they passed, then regrouped.

And each time they got a little closer to the medic trapped in the wall.

Shiv knew it couldn't end well.  He thought about that smile Knock Out had given Silas and tried to stay out of it.

Surprisingly, it was not Sideswing who started the spiral into chaos, but Cantilever.   A single step forward, that was all it took, because that step put him within a few feet of Knock Out.  The rest of the Vehicons drew back in awe, and that made Cantilever seem even closer.  Shiv, pressed in the back of the crowd, couldn't fight his way over to pull him back.  He wasn't sure if he even wanted to.

Maybe Cantilever wouldn't have objected if he had, though.  Cool-headed (and slightly morose) though he was, he was trembling as he stood alone, facing the medic. 

"Well?" Knock Out's sneer of response was . . . oh it was _masterful,_ an outpouring of disdain latticed over a deep-rooted contempt.  His mouth set in disgust as he looked Cantilever up and down, taking in the little scuffs on his chassis, the flecking paint on the edges of his wings, and most of all his _sameness_ against the backdrop of identical purple frames that was the crowd.  The medic made every Vehicon there _feel_ the gulf, the surety that he was named and they were numbered. 

"Well?" Knock Out repeated, mocking.  "And what's your name?"

He was baiting Cantilever, trying to goad him into responding; the only distinctive thing about a Vehicon was his voice. Cantilever was not stupid, but his self-enforced muteness was its own kind of shame.  The anonymity protected him by stripping him of the one thing that made him unique.  Quailing, he made himself take another step towards the brilliantly red mech.

Knock Out stared undiluted hatred at him.  When the flyer tensed and leaned back, it seemed for a moment that the medic, despite his disadvantages, had won the contest of wills.  But then Cantilever heard it.  They all heard it.  The quiet rattle of metal against metal.  Cantilever looked down and saw the medic's hands were clenched in fists and his wrists were clattering against his arms at the joints.

Knock Out was trembling.

Knock Out was _afraid._

The Vehicon's claw caught the light as he slowly reached out.  The tip of it rested lightly against the ruby red chassis for a second, just above a headlight, before Cantilever pressed down and _dragged,_ cutting a scratch into the gleaming paint.  It was short and shallow, but it was _there,_ marring the medic's perfect finish. Knock Out kept his optics locked on Cantilever's red visor; neither of them looked down at the blemish.  But Knock Out gave the tiniest flinch as the Vehicon drew his claw away and the rattling was louder now, although perhaps not from fear.

"I will _kill you,"_ Knock Out hissed.

And with that the crowd broke into a frenzy and pressed in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cantilever, in case you were wondering, is "a beam anchored at only one end. The beam carries the load to the support where it is forced against by moment and shear stress." (Thank you, Wikipedia!) The name was picked completely at random because it was a word mentioned in Wikipedia's article on fighter jets.


	3. Chapter 3

The Vehicons behind Shiv pressed him into the crowd, almost taking him off his pedes as the mob surged forward.  The metallic squeal of claws gouging metal echoed and overlapped Knock Out's shouted curses and threats as Shiv tried to see over the sea of visored helms in front of him.

Suddenly chaos, Vehicons in the front ranks struggling to back away even as they were pushed forward, and the shrieks of a chassis being defaced  were abruptly replaced by the whine of buzzsaw and drill.

"Back! Back!" everyone was screaming, no longer caring who heard, and thin washes of energon spread across the floor.  In the confusion, no one immediately noticed the arrival of Soundwave.

The first Shiv knew about it was that the bots behind him were suddenly not there anymore, and a second later a tentacle lashed around his neck, pulling him backwards, throwing him to the side.  He hit the wall and slumped to the floor, dazed.  All around him Vehicons were fleeing, some almost trampling him in their haste, and he would've been right there with them if his frame would only cooperate.  Through a forest of legs, he saw a Vehicon curled on the floor, battered and kicked as the bots at the epicenter blindly turned tail.

Within the space of a minute, the only bots left in the hall were Knock Out, Soundwave, Shiv, and the body on the floor.  Shiv dimmed his visor, laid still, and hoped for the best.  Fortunately neither officer was paying any attention to him at the moment.

"So, the cavalry arrives," Knock Out was saying, his tone light yet with a tremor underneath the words.  A complicated crosshatching of claw marks disfigured his paint and were even raked across his headlights.  "Honored, of course, but your timing could have been better."

Soundwave's visor tilted sideways as he looked at Knock Out, then at the energon dripping from one sawblade and five claws.

"It's not _mine,"_ Knock Out said with a hard smile, droplets flicking from his hand as he gestured towards the prone Vehicon in front of him.  After a second he grudgingly admitted, "For the most part."

Soundwave leaned down to examine the purple frame curled in on itself, then looked at Shiv.  The swing of his head was so certain and controlled that Shiv had the unpleasant impression that Soundwave had been well-aware of him all along.  For his part, he pushed himself up to his pedes and rubbed his head as though he'd just woken from a daze.  He couldn't tell if Soundwave was fooled or not.  The Third-in-Command gestured towards the body.  Shiv hurried forward to obey the implied command, hooking his claws under the other Vehicon's armpits and pulling it up.  It was not Cantilever, as he had feared, but Swivel.  He was dead, a hole drilled neatly through his spark chamber.

 _Knock Out can't move his arms, so he must have been pushed onto the drill,_ Shiv thought numbly.  _The crowd was behind him and . . . it was just bad luck, that's all.  Just bad luck._

He silently followed his superior officer, hauling the corpse around the corner to the medical bay. Either Knock Out had sent Soundwave the passcode by private comm or the spymaster knew it already; in either case the tall, silent mech had no difficulty unlocking the door.

"W-who's there?  Knock Out? Water, I need water, I need . . . " The voice was rasping, weak, a contrast to the hulking figure that jerked itself half upright against its bonds before falling back against the berth.  The organic smell that always hung around the abomination was more rank than usual. "Help me . . . help me or kill me, damn you . . . help me, let me die . . ."

Ignoring Silas, Shiv dragged Swivel's body into the room at the far end of the medical bay, the mortuary, hauling his former comrade up onto a gurney.  Just another source of spare parts, awaiting disassembly.  Exiting, he saw Soundwave regarding Breakdown's mutilated body as the human infestation continued to plead and curse, though it was hard to discern if the blank-visored mech was actually interested or just looking at him for lack of anything better to do.

Soundwave pointed to a small cupboard; opening it, Shiv found cleaning supplies.  Of course.  All that energon in the corridor.  Without enthusiasm, he picked up a bucket and rags.   To his surprise, Soundwave helped himself to some supplies as well.

"About time," Knock Out hissed when they returned.  It was directed at Soundwave, of course; Shiv was already on hands and knees, mopping up the spilled energon.  "What took you so long?"

Soundwave played an audio clip.  _"W-who's there? Knock Out?"_

"Oh.  So it's still alive?  _Good._   Don't let it die, I'm not finished with it yet.  I may never be finished with it," he mused . . . then gave a quick smile as he raised his optics to Soundwave.  "All for the glory of the Decepticon cause, of course."

 _"Water, I need water, I need . . ."_ Soundwave tilted his head questioningly.

"Oh yes, the little blight will need water.  Energon diluted with water, actually.  As well as . . . Here—do you have a data-pad?"

Through his sidelong glances Shiv watched the Third-in-Command hold a data-pad in front of the trapped medic as he wrote, an awkward process since he had control of his wrist but not his arm.

"There.  Follow that regime and it'll be fine.  Within certain parameters of fine.  Oh, and move it to the Auxiliary, will you?  I was getting sick of its whining anyway."

Soundwave gave no indication of whether he thought this request was reasonable.  Since it would inevitably fall to the Vehicons, he probably did.  Shiv kept his head down, scrubbed, and prayed he wouldn't be one of those Vehicons.

"Listen, Soundwave, you must see . . ." Knock Out's voice was controlled and cajoling, with an undercurrent that Shiv couldn't place.  "You must see it's bad for morale, letting the troops see an officer like this."

Soundwave said nothing.  He took out a cloth and started cleaning the congealing energon off Knock Out's arms and chest, rubbing hard to get it out of the scratches and splits. Superficial scratches gleamed a dull silver while the deeper ones sent thin threads of energon lacing down Knock Out's chassis until Soundwave once again wiped them away. 

"Not that it's not appreciated, but this is a classic case of treating the symptom instead of the disease," Knock Out muttered, staring down at his chassis with a pained expression. He flipped his drill out at Soundwave's gesture and the energon drying on the sprialling drill bit ( _Swivel's energon,_ thought Shiv) was wiped off as well.  "Surely Lord Megatron doesn't want mutiny in the ranks?  The chain of _command,_ Soundwave, think of it.  It needs every link in order to remain anchored.  Now, some links are admittedly more important than others . . ." He fawned shamelessly as he gazed up at the Third-in-Command.  "But they're all _necessary_ to keep _control_ of . . . Soundwave? Soundwave!"

But the tall, angular mech, having finished his task, was walking away.

"Fine," Knock Out snarled, clenching his hands into fists as he strained to peer after him. "Just . . . _fine."_ All at once his hands went slack and he looked almost as he had when Shiv had first seen him asleep, except that his optics were open now, staring unfocused at the floor.

His red-on-black optics shifted suddenly, fixing on the Vehicon kneeling with his rags and bucket.  Shiv gathered up the supplies and walked away as quickly as he could, feeling the medic's eyes burning on his back.

 _He never heard me. I didn't speak,_ Shiv kept thinking to himself. He dumped the bucket in a general supply cabinet and headed straight for the barracks. _Thank Primus I didn't have to speak._


	4. Chapter 4

None of the Vehicons who had been in the hall during the melee wanted to go near the medic again.  But not everyone had been there. 

Sideswing hadn't.

"What do you think you're going to prove?" Shiv demanded, his claws digging into Sideswing's arm plating, physically preventing him from leaving the barracks.  "You're going to get yourself killed!  Is that what you want? Is that what Radar would have wanted?"

"I don't know, maybe I should go the morgue and ask his _corpse,"_ Sideswing growled, jerking his arm away.  "But since you're so scared of a bot who can't even move, you can stay here and hide in the corner."

"Maybe _you_ should stay and help with Cantilever!"  Shiv's visor flashed as he pointed towards the figure sitting hunched on one of the many berths in the common quarters.

Cantilever lifted his helm from his knees.  "I'm okay," he said.  "I'm fine."

Shiv and Sideswing both looked at him in concern.  Cantilever was not fine. Knock Out's drill had driven straight through his arm.  The only reason he had managed to escape without tearing himself up even more was that the medic had retracted the weapon to slash at the Vehicons around him with his claws.  But the sharp, twisted drill pulling backwards through Cantilever's casing and circuitry had done the Vehicon no favors.  He had a literal hole in his arm, ragged around the edges and constantly weeping energon.  Other Vehicons had injuries too—deep scratches and cleaved plating—but Cantilever's was the worst.

Sideswing leaned over to check on his wingmate, putting a servo on his shoulder.  "Don't worry, I'll be careful.  And you know what?  I'm going to carve Radar's name right into that glitch's over-polished chassis."

"Don't."  Cantilever's claws curled into fists.  "Sideswing.  Just let it go."

"I can't."

"Then I'm coming along."  Cantilever shifted, swinging his legs over the side of the berth.

"Cantilever!" Shiv said, pressing his shoulders down as he started to rise.  "No, you're hurt!"

"My arm will hurt whether I'm here or there."

"Let him come, Shiv.  He wants to watch.  It's his _right_ to watch," Sideswing said in a grandiose tone that made Shiv want to punch him.  Sideswing's gaze swept around the room, catching the optics of the other Vehicons crowding around their friends or searching through the first aid datapads.  "Who's with me?  Who's ready to teach that sadistic bastard a lesson?"

If he was expecting a mass of cheers, he was disappointed.  Most bots turned away or hunched over their wounds.  But a few shuffled forward, muttering darkly and flexing their claws. 

Not everyone had been in the hall.

* * *

"Oh _good,_ I was beginning to get bored," Knock Out sneered, a hard glint in his optics. If his previous experience had left him worried, he wasn't showing it, except in the scratches covering his chest. 

Three of the Vehicons, pinned by that unyielding black and red stare, shrunk back, backed around the corner, and were gone. That left five of them—Sideswing, Cantilever, Switchback, Fast Track, and, against his better judgment, Shiv.

They stood in a huddle.  Fast Track and Switchback stared at Knock Out, mesmerized. Sideswing kept glaring after the three Vehicons who had abandoned them, while Cantilever leaned heavily on his shoulder. Droplets of energon seeped from his injured arm and his gaze was fixed on the floor.  But he looked up when Shiv nudged him.  Not daring to speak, Shiv jerked his helm in the direction of the barracks, but Cantilever shook his head.  He was staying.

The medic was studying them now, looking them over from helm to pede like they were lab specimens.  His optics fixed on the circular wound punched through Cantilever's arm and a smile pulled Knock Out's lip upward, revealing a flash of denta.

Sideswing growled deep in his vocalizer and would have charged forward, but Shiv and Cantilever held him back.  Cantilever kept raising one claw up his faceplate in a gesture for silence.  Silence was anonymity, and anonymity was safety.

It was Fast Track who first separated from the perimeter of the group, edging towards the medic, stopping when Knock Out's helm swung towards him.  Switchback inched forward too, following the path forged by the other Vehicon grounder, but it was Fast Track who had caught Knock Out's eye, standing out in the open in front of him.  Shiv unconsciously clutched Sideswing's arm even harder.  It was just like before, just like with Cantilever, except the hallway was empty and _Knock Out wasn't trembling._  

"Is there something I can help you with, _genericon?_ Tell me where it hurts."

Fast Track's back stiffened at the insult.  His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he closed the distance, frame shaking slightly.  He lashed out, his claws aiming for the red finish above Knock Out's headlights.

It all happened so fast.  The drill erupted from Knock Out's wrist, a weapon nearly doubling the length of his lower arm, and Fast Track simultaneously twisted around and leapt back as its whine filled his audials.   Suddenly sharp claws were driving into his back, digging through his plating, into his circuitry, and he screamed and twisted and jerked, but that only drew them farther down his back, and Shiv couldn't do anything but cling to Sideswing and stare in horror.

Switchback charged in, grabbing Fast Track's arm and trying to pull him away and trying to avoid the drill, and then abruptly the drill folded in and five claws, long, elegant, _sharp,_ were swiveling in a semi-circle, gouging deep into Switchback's shoulder.  Metal shrieked as Switchback tore away, the claws scything through his purple gloss, leaving ugly lacerations lined with broken metal, but all that mattered was that he'd pulled Fast Track back, back to safety, leaving a spattering trail of energon in their wake.

Shiv didn't dare look at the medic as he chuckled in that deep voice of his, just focused on applying pressure to the deep claw marks on Fast Track's back.  He'd stopped screaming but he seemed to be in shock, shivering as he leaned against the wall.

Sideswing helped him sit down without collapsing and stalked forward to face Knock Out, shaking off Shiv, who was clutching his arm, and Cantilever, who was frantically shaking his head.  Knock Out's smirk was replaced with a wary expression.  But he still wasn't trembling.

 _Come back, you fool,_ Shiv thought, but a part of him fiercely approved, hated Knock Out and wanted to see him brought down, brought _low._   The wall hadn't done it, the mob hadn't done it, the scratches on his cherry red chassis hadn't done it, but a part of Shiv believed that Sideswing _could._

Sideswing kept his optic band fixed on Knock Out's face as he stepped forward.  Ominous little clicking noises emanated from the doctor's left arm, the threat of a buzzsaw about to swing out.  But Sideswing carefully kept dead center of the medic's immobile arms and kept coming.  Knock Out must have realized he wasn't going to panic and break like Fast Track;  his eyes narrowed and he hissed with anger as Sideswing reached towards him.

Radar's name, in Cybertronian characters, was short.  The thin sound of metal scraping metal filled the silence as the Vehicon carved the inscription on a patch of relatively unmarred paint along the swell of Knock Out's shoulder.  It must have been agonizing, but the medic didn't scream or speak, just dropped his head and glowered off to the side as his hands convulsively folded and unfolded.

 _He did it.  I don't believe it. He actually did it!_   Shiv felt a vicious elation.  _Now come back, Sideswing, carefully. Sideswing, what are you doing?  Come back._

Sideswing was standing there, looking down at the medic's lowered head, the only place where his finish was still smooth, shiny, and undefiled.  When the Vehicon spread his digits, the glossy paintwork reflected them, thin little streaks interrupting the red shine, like the silvery scratches clawed into Knock Out's chest. Sideswing's sharp, narrow claws gleamed as they suddenly slashed down towards Knock Out's helm.

A blur of movement, red and white, a quick quiet crunch, and Sideswing didn't even have time to scream as the stiletto tip of Knock Out's shark-fin helm punctured his wrist, driving straight through.  They stared at each other as blue streams of energon crawled down the fluted contours of Knock Out's helm, dripping off his noseguard and running down the back of his neck.

Very carefully, Sideswing pulled his wrist free, clutching it to staunch the flow.

"That's a nasty wound.  You're lucky it missed your main fuel line.  Lucky, lucky you."

Sideswing backed away till he hit the wall.

"You really ought to have someone _look_ at it, though.  A medic.  Without proper treatment, it will _scar."_

Knock Out's gaze ran over the group again, his optics lingering on each of their injuries.  Sideswing's wrist.  Cantilever's arm.  Fast Track's back.  Switchback's shoulder.  He kept smiling when he got to Shiv, but his eyes became even more intense.  The wall creaked, as though he was straining forward.

"And what about _you,_ Vehicon?  Aren't you going to take your turn?"

Shiv wanted to look away.  He wanted to.

"What's your name?  Tell me your name."

Oh Primus.  He had to get out of here.  He had to . . . he just . . .

He started backing away, pressed against the wall.  Knock Out, helpless, trapped, covered with energon, and smiling _that smile,_ followed him with his eyes.

"Your name, Vehicon.  _Surely_ you aren't disobeying a superior officer.  Your name.  Tell me your name.  _Tell me your—"_

Shiv twisted away and ran for all he was worth.


	5. Chapter 5

"Disgraceful," Commander Dreadwing roared, pacing up and down in front of them as they stood in tense ranks. "You are Decepticons, are you not? Noble warriors! Not sparklings, to squabble after the last dredges of energon! And yet you stand before me in this sorry state!"

Shame coiled in Shiv's spark; true, this was a slightly adapted version of the speech every commanding officer seemed to know, but the weight of Dreadwing's conviction made it harder to shrug off. The fact that the troops had not been fighting amongst themselves, as Dreadwing believed, and that Shiv himself had avoided injury did nothing to lessen the guilt in the Vehicon's chest.

"You." Dreadwing's optics fixed on Cantilever, flicking from the hole in his arm to his faceplate. "You are scheduled for tomorrow's patrol over the mines, are you not?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be there, sir."

"You will not," Dreadwing said coldly. "You are useless in this state."

A collective shudder ran through the ranks. Useless. The most dangerous word.

"Yes, sir," Cantilever agreed hoarsely, his wings quivering.

"You will remain off-duty until further notice," Dreadwing continued, "and will report to the medic as soon as he is . . ." His mouth twisted. " . . . available."

* * *

"Decent of him," Sideswing said. "More than decent. Dreadwing's the best commander we've ever had. Your precious _Starscream_ wouldn't have done that, Shiv."

"He might have," Shiv defended his idol. 

"No, he wouldn't. That skinny glitch would've sent Canti to the scrapheap."

"And he wouldn't have deserved it?" growled a deep voice. They turned to find Tread, one of the rare tank Vehicons, glaring at them. Specifically, at Cantilever. "Thanks to _him,_ we're in deep slag. And he gets rewarded for it, sitting on his aft in the ship while the rest of us get gunned down by Autobots."

"Thanks to him?" Shiv shot back. "You weren't exactly hanging back when you saw a chance to take a piece out of Knock Out. In fact, you were right at the front of the mob, if I recall. And it shows!"

"He started it!" Tread said, defensively covering the long, narrow scratches on his chest with one hand, pointing at Cantilever with the other. "He set everyone off!"

"Tread," Cantilever said. "Your chest will heal. You'll survive." He turned away.

Sideswing swirled after to intercept him, grabbing his shoulders and giving them a little shake, wincing as it jarred his injured wrist. "You'll survive too. You'll survive!"

"There's a hole in my arm."

A simple statement with unhappy implications.

* * *

The Vehicons now actively avoided the hall where Knock Out was imprisoned. He had achieved an almost mythic status in their optics since his dramatic skewering of Sideswing's wrist (a cautionary tale frequently retold—often by Sideswing himself). Don't hog the energon, Knock Out will get you. 

Shiv had more pressing concerns than the latest superstitions, however. Like the fact that the other Vehicons' various scratches did indeed scar, leaving ugly puckers of silver metal scabbing over the gouges. Like the fact that Sideswing could barely move his wrist. Like the way Cantilever's arm kept burning with fever. 

Cantilever was still on leave, at Dreadwing's command. Fortunate, since his transformation sequence would have left him with a hole in his wing. Still, Shiv and Sideswing worried, quietly discussing the situation in the dubious privacy of a corner of the barracks. A Vehicon who couldn't work was useless. A Vehicon who was useless was in danger.

"But if worse comes to worse, one of us can cover for him," Sideswing pointed out. All three of them were Vehicon jets. Being identical had its advantages.

* * *

"Well, you must be happy," Diesel said, pushing a half-empty cube of energon Shiv's way.

"About what? I don't want that after you've been drinking it."

"Why not?"

"Because it's gross. And you didn't answer me. About what?"

"About your secret crush coming back on board."

"I don't have a—Wait, you mean Starscream? Commander Starscream's back?"

"Ex-Commander," Diesel corrected.

"But still!" Shiv realized he was clasping his claws together and hastily separated them. "And . . . how does Lord Megatron feel about it?"

"I dunno. He's okay with it, I guess, or else why let him on board?"

"Starscream . . . " Shiv murmured. He wasn't sure why he felt such admiration (NOT puppy love!) for the former Second-in-Command. Maybe it was because he was such a perfect specimen of a Seeker. (Those wings, those legs . . .) Maybe it was his peerless skill in flight. Or maybe it was just that he felt enormously sorry for him. 

Yes, Starscream had tried to offline Lord Megatron a few times, but what could Megatron expect when he beat the Seeker to scrap at the drop of a bolt? No wonder Starscream had run away. Shiv sometimes imagined pulling him aside and telling him that he understood what it was like to be treated badly for no reason, that he sympathized, that it wasn't _fair._ And the Commander would be moved by his words and invite him on a flight, just the two of them . . .

"I'm going to go see him."

Diesel stared at Shiv in astonishment. "See him? Like, _talk_ to him?"

"Well, no," Shiv reluctantly demurred. "But just . . . see if he looks okay." Just a peep. He started for the doorway of the barracks, but saw the silhouette of a bot coming in and politely stood aside.

The footsteps told him something was wrong even before his optics did. Slow, steady . . . not heavy, yet with a kind of solidity behind them.

He froze in a cringe as Knock Out paused on the threshold, a smirk on his face. The medic leaned on his shock prod, his brilliant red finish flawless and smooth like it had never been anything else. 

"Knock knock."

The silence, sudden and electric, was broken by small, terrified whispers wreathing around the barracks. Knock Out sauntered into the center of the room, twirling his staff in his fingers. He rested a hand on his hip as he swept his eyes over the troops. "I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know that our little lost electro-sheep, Starscream, has wandered back to the fold. Oh, and a little update on Commander Dreadwing. Lord Megatron has offered him the standard Decepticon early retirement package. Memorial service to be held tomorrow, light refreshments will be served."

More murmurs among the troopers, surprised and worried. Dreadwing, dead!

"So Dreadwing's out, Starscream's in, my little scraplets. And since we want our dear Air Commander to have a pleasant homecoming, everything has to be in tip-top shape, doesn't it now? Including you lot." His tone became brisk. "So. Surprise inspection. Fall in."

After a moment's hesitance, everyone scrambled madly to line up in ranks. It was strange, Shiv thought as he stood at attention, watching Knock Out prowl up and down in front of them. This was the Vehicons' home, their private barracks, and Knock Out had never been more outnumbered. But he had regained his confidence, his shine, and presumably Megatron's blessing. They could no more attack him than they could punch the sun.

Knock Out examined each Vehicon in turn as he made his rounds at a deliberate pace. The medic stopped in front of Tread, his optics fixed on the silver scars down his chest. "Designation?"

"TE-400, sir."

In that moment, Shiv knew they were doomed. He stood stiff and straight, military bearing, and watched in his peripheral vision as Knock Out sauntered and scrutinized, and that horrible moment where his optics _focused_ , like a knife sliding home, was repeated over and over. The scars on Switchback's shoulder. The scabs on Hubcap's abdomen. The gash on Cirrus' hand. Shiv thought Fast Track might escape, but Knock Out seemed to have a sixth sense.

"Around," he said, twirling his finger.

Fast Track turned in a slow circle, revealing the scars on his back. "FT-112," he mumbled, without waiting to be asked.

Knock Out said nothing, just smirked and moved on. Sideswing next. Knock Out casually reached out, pulling the flyer's arm away from his side.

"Oh yes," Knock Out chuckled. He caught three of Sideswing's thin, frail claws in his elegant fingers and used them to lever the Vehicon's wrist back and forth. A slight tremor ran through Sideswing's frame, but otherwise he was still. "Designation?"

"SS-692, _sir,"_ he spat. 

"Watch your tone, Vehicon. Lord Megatron has no patience for insubordination," Knock Out said pleasantly. His fingers opened, letting Sideswing's wrist drop. "No patience at all."

 _Lord Megatron won't let him kill us,_ Shiv told himself as Knock Out's eyes raked over him, searching for a mark or a scar. _We are only useful to him alive. Lord Megatron wants us to live._ He fervently willed himself to believe that. 

"And yooou." Knock Out came to a halt in front of Cantilever, his gaze caressing the gaping hole in the flyer's arm. He reached out to run his fingers along the lip of the wound, watching Cantilever's face as the Vehicon tried not to flinch. 

"Designation?" Knock Out said as he idly broke off brittle little bits of metal from around the edge of the punctured casing.

Cantilever's vocalizer only spit up pained static.

"Never mind." Knock Out laughed. His eyes glittered as he leaned close. _"I'll know you when I see you."_


	6. Chapter 6

Shiv followed Knock Out down the hall, along with Tread and Driveshaft.  "You, you, and you," the medic had said, before sweeping out of the barracks. He hadn't looked back to see if they were following.  He hadn't needed to. 

Shiv's processor worked overtime as he exchanged nervous glances with Driveshaft.  Tread was pretending he didn't care, but he had to be asking himself the same question.  Why them?  Shiv was a jet, Tread was a tank, Driveshaft was an automobile; three different alt modes.  Then again, Tread had scars from Knock Out's claws, but Shiv and Driveshaft didn't.  Or to look at it a third way, Shiv was an aerial, the other two were grounders. 

There had to be a pattern.  There had to.

The fuel in his tank lurched as the medic turned down a familiar hallway, pausing in front of a gaping hole cut out of the wall.  With his fingers tapping against his hip-plate, Knock Out regarded his former prison.  The Vehicons flinched to varying degrees as he turned towards them.

"Fix it," he said simply, waving a servo.

It took Shiv a moment to realize that the medic was not speaking in metaphors, but giving them a literal command.  Relief flooded his neural net.  Fix it. Fix the wall. Of course.  Even before fighting, menial labor was a Vehicon's primary function.

Then Knock Out added, "See me in the med bay when you're finished."  Shiv's anxiety reasserted itself as the medic saunter off.

The job took them a while.  First they had to haul in the materials and tools from the storage decks below, then cut the metal into shape, and two of them had to hold the plate of sheet metal in place while the third welded.  A job like that needed four or five bots, really, but none of them suggested calling in more Vehicons.  Knock Out had specifically assigned the job to the three of them;  that was that.

"Not that he'd know," Driveshaft murmured as he trimmed the metal. 

Shiv remained silent.  The room on the other side of the opening was unlit and dusty, with rows of wire shelves reaching up to the ceiling.  Everything about it had an air of abandonment, except the clear outlines of two pedes in the dust, one almost toed against the wall, the other set back a little.  But for all that he thought he sensed (not quite saw) signs of life once or twice . . . two pinpricks of red that might have been imagined, or a patch of murk that could have been a bot's silhouette.

Superstition and fear, he told himself, until he realized that the hallway ran behind the block of rooms that comprised the medical bay.  What could be easier for the Chief Medical Officer than to stand in the doorway of his own storage room, watching?  Shiv didn't tell the others.  But he refused to take a break until they made the preliminary welds, holding the new piece of wall in place.

* * *

"Took long enough," Knock Out said irritably when they finally turned up in the medical bay, grimy and worn out.  "All right, you."  He pointed at Driveshaft.  "On the berth."

Driveshaft quailed.  "W-why?"

Knock Out's optic ridges rose, two thin black arches over half-lidded eyes.  "Yours not to reason why, Vehicon."

The gleam of the overhead lights shivered across Driveshaft's door-plates as he hauled himself onto the berth, sitting upright, tense and awkward.  This seemed to further irritate Knock Out.

"Back," he ordered, turning to sort through a nearby cupboard.  "Designation?"

"D . . . DS-640."

Shiv pressed his claws against his fellow Vehicon's arm, the only comfort he could offer, while Tread stared uncomfortably at the far wall, refusing to look.  None of them saw the stethalgiascope until Knock Out set the bell-shaped end of it against the Vehicon's chest, the thinner earpiece pressed to the medic's glossy white audial.

"Vent in and out.  Deep, slow vents," Knock Out said.  And an instant later, disgust clear on his face, "Deep and slow, I said, not rapid and shallow!  Primus!  Are you deaf?"

He examined the Vehicon's audials next and determined, no, he was not deaf.  Then he tested his optical band. The vestigial mouth hidden under his faceplate.  Next his joints.  The medic scribbled notes on a datapad all the while.  By that point it was clear that Knock Out was conducting a routine medical exam. 

"Now you," the doctor informed Tread after when Driveshaft was finally allowed to climb down, and the process was repeated. 

By the time Shiv's turn rolled around, he was not only relieved, but also a tiny bit bored.  He twisted around when he heard the main hydraulic door hiss open.  His spark pulsed faster as Starscream strolled in, all long legs and elegant bearing.

"Well, Doctor, can I assume that _this_ time your medical facility is free of rampaging brutes?"

The medic glanced up.  "I believe we've reached our quota for the week, Starscream."

"Hmph, very amusing.  And it's _Commander_ Starscream." The Seeker moved over to the medic, his wings lifting and lowering in one graceful flick.  "And you're actually working for a change.  I'm surprised."

"I _was_ working, until someone started hanging over my shoulder.  What's the matter, Commander?" Knock Out asked with studied innocence.  "Did your arm fall off again?"

Starscream huffed, muttering something about 'never properly attached' and 'lack of competent medical care.'  "Actually, Doctor, I require some research on these little trinkets."  He fanned out four oddly and intricately shaped pieces of metal, each identical.

"The Omega Keys, hmm?"  He eyed them speculatively.  "All right. In a minute."

Starscream crossed his arms.  "I believe the future of our planet is _slightly_ more important than the vital statistics of one _drone."_ Shiv's wince had nothing to do with Knock Out prodding his elbow joint.  All the same, at least the Commander was looking at him.  That had to count for something.

"Fine, I was almost done anyway." Knock Out rolled his eyes.  "Down," he told the Vehicon aerial. 

Shiv slipped off the berth and would have lingered, had not Driveshaft pointedly herded him towards the door.  Tread was right behind them, already halfway there when Knock Out gestured them back. 

"Wait."

They let themselves be drawn back, Driveshaft and Tread reluctantly, Shiv with suppressed eagerness.   He was disappointed when Knock Out handed a datapad to Tread rather than himself, with the instructions, "Show this to Commander Starscream."

"What is it?" Starscream demanded as Tread shuffled towards him, Knock Out ambling easily behind him.  He reached out for the datapad the tank-bot offered.  "This had better be important, Knock Out, or—"

The Air Commander cut off with a screech, shielding his eyes as the gleaming red medic pulled his electro-staff out of his back compartment, extending it and stabbing its crackling prongs into Tread's neck in one smooth motion.  Driveshaft shrank back, Shiv stepped forward, then both froze as the electricity played over Tread's convulsing frame, his claws clenching and unclenching over the screen of the datapad fallen from his grasp.

"Knock Out!  What on Cybertron?!"  Starscream held his arms straight in front of him, pointing his missiles first at Tread, then at Knock Out, as though he couldn't decide which represented a threat to him.  "What was THAT?"

Knock Out drew his weapon back, leaned on it as he looked at the incapacitated Vehicon at his feet.  He didn't answer immediately, just gestured towards Driveshaft and Shiv.  "Pick him up."  Automatically they moved to obey, each of them pulling Tread up by an arm.  His neck rolled forward, optics dark as fuzzes of energy prickled over his frame.

"I asked you a question, Knock Out," Starscream snarled, still agitated.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing that would interest you, _Herr Kommandant._   I need a test subject, that's all.  A control group.  Well, I say 'group', but it's really just the one Vehicon.  So far."

"Experimenting on drones?" Starscream slowly lowered his weapons, relaxing.  "I'm surprised, Knock Out.  You were always far too soft-sparked towards them."

Knock Out fixed a stare on Starscream, a smile in place and a gleam in his optics.  The Air Commander flinched as Knock Out's staff twirled in a crackling circle, the butt impacting the floor with a thud.  "I?"

Starscream's wings sawed up and down as he glanced away, fixing his eyes on the tank-bot, slung between the arms of the other Vehicons.  "Well, your partner—same difference.  Where is Breakdown, anyway?"

Knock Out leaned back, his staff taking part of his weight as he shifted a leg back to support himself further.  "Deactivated." 

To say there was no expression in his voice would have been inaccurate, because that implied flatness.  But there was no flatness.  There was nothing.  He said it like it was just a word, like 'cloudy' or 'energon.'  Deactivated.

Starscream drew his head back and to the side in a startled motion, his lips compressing in a grimace of surprise and distaste.  Recovering, he twisted his head to study the medic head on, his expression watchful and wary.

"I see," he said.  "My condolences."

"Thank you, Commander, but somehow—I know this will shock you—I've managed all this time without your 'condolences.'  Perhaps you should save them for someone who needs them or donate them to the poor . . .  What are you two waiting for?" he snapped suddenly, rounding on Shiv and Driveshaft as Tread began to twitch towards consciousness.  "Get him on that berth and strap him down.  _Tightly,_ you understand?  Or you'll be right there next to him!"

"My, my, Knock Out," came the Seeker's chuckle. "I have to hand it to you. You _do_ know how to motivate."

Shiv's claws fumbled at the straps, trembling, and for once he had no desire to look at Starscream at all.


End file.
